"Never see me again?" she interrupted. "Why not? I am sure you are in some danger you will not tell me of, else why should I never see you again?"
"Would you care if you did not see me again?"—he was beginning, in a passionate whisper, when Peggie, released from her sheepskin and clad in somewhat scanty drapery intended to represent springtime, pounced upon them, delighted with the semi-nudity that displayed her charming form, while the mask concealed her plain face.
"Have I been away long enough?" she cried saucily. "Have you had plenty of time to quarrel and make love? Come, Prue; eleven o'clock has struck, and we shall scarcely be in time for a country-dance before we unmask. Hasten!"
She was drawing Prue after her by one hand, but she hung back, extending the other to Robin, who stood irresolute, longing to follow, yet not venturing, unbidden.
"Farewell," she said, in a thrilling voice. "Prithee, do not linger."
He pressed a kiss on her finger-tips and was still looking after her with his heart in his eyes, when a hand brushed his arm with a peculiar touch, and turning with his wandering senses suddenly on the alert, he saw a figure in a monk's habit, strolling slowly toward the most crowded card-room. He followed, and soon caught up with him.
"Your dress is too conspicuous," said the monk, in a harsh whisper. "There is work to be done, instantly, and your dress unfits you for it."
"Show me the work," said Robin, apparently greatly interested in two players who were throwing dice for high stakes.
"I expected to find you at your post, and after a long search, where do I discover you? You, of all men—at the feet of the most heartless little Jezebel in London," said the monk, with bitterness.
Robin laughed silently. "Have you also been under her feet?" he asked. "Well, if it were any one else, I would kill him for such a calumny upon the most virtuous and adorable lady in the world; but I can not spare you, so give me your news."